Can't Buy Me Sanity
by Jeanne Marie
Summary: The gods decide that Iffie doesn't have enough going on, what with her impending job search and new relationship with Richie, so they throw a new student and a few more "complications" her way. FUN. Yes, sorry. It's one of those dreaded OC stories.


The fandom has gotten a lot smaller in the decade since I posted the first Iffie story. I'm fairly certain that no one will read this, but what the hey. I don't think it should keep collecting dust on my hard-drive just because I was never able to link the end to the rest of the story. That's unfair.

CAN'T BUY ME SANITY

It was Sunday afternoon and I sat, smoking on the fire escape. Richie was one of the most amiable dudes I had ever been with, but he did put his foot down on occasion, especially concerning my favorite vice. He told me he'd used tobacky only sparingly, and even then while under the influence of a truly weird quickening. In short, he didn't like the stuff. But I liked him, so I agreed to a few minor concessions, like never to toast my lungs in an enclosed space while in his presence.

Ah, me, the things I do for love.

I dragged from the cigarette slowly, managing with my century of experience to keep from ashing myself. Since hisself was not in evidence I didn't have to be where I was, getting nasty looks from rubber-neckers and dents in my keyster, but it was a nice enough day and I felt like getting some sun. In order to look like a healthy, normal, GNP-enriching member of society, I'd been cooped up the entire weekend trying to creatively compile my work experiences into a believable resume (Can you imagine?). Needless to say, I had taken several dozen cigarette breaks.

When the need to just get it done overcame me, I deftly flicked the Marlboro Light away (A divergence from my usual brand, I realize. I'd been told that Camels were too odorific for cohabitation.), glided inside, and called for my cat, Piggy. Actually, his name-tag reads Pigsnout, but I call him Piggy. That is, when I'm not calling him Cat, Princess, Manservant Hecubus, or anything else I can think of. Sometimes I tell him he's a chicken.

Poor Piggy is a mighty confused, but very fluffy, little chicken. He's a good kitty, though; I love him to death. Finding and adopting that little guy had been the second smartest thing I'd done lately. The first was hooking up with Richie.

"Come 'ere, Piggers!"

I called, cooed and cajoled for several minutes, but no chicken came out to greet me. "Pigs, where is dyou?" When I'm really bored and in a goofy mood, I tend to put on a vaguely Puerto Rican accent.

Yes, I do know that I'm absolutely crackers. Why do you ask?

I did a quick sweep of the apartment, which took longer than it sounds. Richie and I could both win awards for laziness in the household maintenance department. Between the two of us, I'm surprised we haven't turned the place into one big hovel. Anyway, it soon became evident that my boyfriend wasn't the only one who had seen fit to venture out on his own. If we had lived in the suburbs, I wouldn't have worried, but Piggy was an apartment cat. He couldn't possibly survive outside, especially in his de-clawed condition. I went around to the neighbors, asked if anybody had seen or heard anything, and came to the conclusion that the Pigman had indeed left the building.

x0x0x

I jogged outside, felt the buzz, and watched as some poor sap walked right into the path of a large vehicle. "Easy, tiger." I grabbed the boy's arm and pulled him out of the street. "That's a fairly effective way to get yourself ki-." I stopped mid-scold.

This kid was the source of the buzz.

And judging by the way he was squinting, obviously trying not to show he was in pain, the buzz was somewhat new to him. If not for the particularly low-level hum he put out, I'd have thought it was all an act, but I could tell he had never taken a quickening. For all intents and purposes, he was a hatchling.

Judas Priest.

"Are you all right," I asked calmly.

"I'm fine!" He ripped his arm out of my grasp and huffed away. "Get outta my face."

I could see my work was cut out for me. The guy was 6'2", about 180 pounds. His muscular, dark brown arms were moderately tattooed, and not one of them said 'Mommy.' I took a deep, cleansing breath and started after him. Duty and all that. "Here, what's your name, sailor?"

To my surprise, he actually calmed down a bit and turned around. "Rohshawn. Uh, thanks for saving my life."

"De nada. I know how distracting sudden headaches can be."

"Yeah, well-." Rohshawn's eyes widened slightly and he interrupted himself. "What do you know about it?"

Ooh, suspicion. Now there's a fabulous way to start things off. "What if I said I had a gnarly accident a long time ago, one that killed me, but I didn't stay dead?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." His eyes of course told a different story.

"What if I invited you to my apartment and offered to explain everything?"

His response to my offer was a snort. "Woman, why would I want to hear anything you have to say?"

My eyes crossed entirely of their own volition as I silently counted to ten—in Farsi. "Why not?"

Rohshawn gave this look. If Jessie had been in his place, I could see her saying something along the lines of 'Duuuh.'

"Oh, ho!" A revelation firmly presented itself in my mind. "I get it, you think that anything said by me is not WORTH listening to." Still struggling with what he conceived to be a nasty migraine, a shrug was all I got from him.

"I'm no gee-hovah's witness, I say that with total truthfulness. If you come with me, I promise you won't get preached to."

My overly lame attempt at humor fell on quite deaf ears. "What the hell do you want?"

"I want nothing. I thought YOU might want some answers. No? Okay then." So started I in the other direction.

"Wait." Rohshawn grabbed my shirt.

"Dyes?" I coolly glanced at his hand. It wouldn't do for me to take any guff.

He bowed his head slightly and let go. "Who are you?"

"These days I'm going by the name Genie. How the hell are ya?"

x0x0x

Back at the ranch, ole Roh took the news skeptically, until I fell back on the usual method, cutting his hand and letting him see it heal. Then his mood changed considerably.

"Mofo!" His actual exclamation had several more syllables, but the gist is there. "I thought you was just nuts, lady."

"You weren't wrong about THAT," Richie pointed out. He was home when we got there.

I smiled when his words made Rohshawn laugh for the first time. "So, we don't age," he asked, getting serious again.

"Nope."

"And we don't get sick, and we can live forever."

"Uh-huh."

I saw his brown eyes lock on mine. I knew that look. I'd been waiting for that look. "Then how old are y'all, anyway?"

I thought for a minute, but Richie beat me to the punch, stating casually, "She's pretty much older than everybody you've ever met—put together."

"Is that old—for guys like us," Rohshawn asked him.

"I think so. The guy who found me is over four hundred and she's been around a hell of a lot longer than him."

"Dang!"

"Quite," I agreed. This was going well so far, but we hadn't gotten to the important parts yet. "Richie my pet?"

"Yes, Iffie?"

I told him all about poor lost Piggy, taking care to express my profound desire to get him found before tomorrow. Richie looked at Rohshawn, then he looked at me. "Okay. Where did you stop looking?"

"Outside the building," I replied, with a song in my heart. "Thanks, love."

"Sure." He gave me a kiss, took his keys, and departed. "Iff? This may take awhile, so don't be worried if I'm not back 'till tonight. Stay cool." My resulting grin was so wide I could feel my eyes squinch up. Sliced bread had nothing on my boyfriend!

With Richie gone, Rohshawn and I were free to start discussing long-term survival. I glanced at my first prospective student in over eight decades. "So," he began.

"So."

"How come your man called you Iffie? You said your name was Genie."

"Quite right," I admitted. "I've had dozens of names; Genie is just what I'm using for this life. I was first called Iphigenia, so that's who I really am, I guess."

"Huh," Roh said thoughtfully. The young man's brow got all furrowed as he began to contemplate just how much his world had changed in a single evening. "What happens now?"

I plopped down next to him on the couch. "Now, you learn how to play the game."

Rather than ask the number of heads I'd taken or request to see my sword, Rohshawn tried to convince me that he already possessed the skills. Not only that, he fancied himself ready to go up against the best of us. This man knew how to stay alive—he had survived to the ripe old age of twenty-one in a neighborhood where most boys didn't see eighteen—and he had nothing to learn from nobody, especially me.

"I KNOW how to take care of myself. You ever been inside?"

"Not in this century, no." I had incurred several minor skirmishes with the legal system in the recent past, but since not one of them lasted for more than a month or two, I doubted Roh would be impressed.

"Psh, and I'm supposed to learn from you?"

I decided to try another angle. "I have been a slave, though," I offered. "That's a lot like prison, 'ceptin' I didn't do nothing to deserve it."

Caught between shock and mistrust, Rohshawn cocked his head and looked at me funny. "YOU was a slave? When?"

"First time I was about your age. My father-in-law thought his son would do better with someone else, so he sold me to a bunch of foreigners. I didn't think I had any choice, so I just went with it."

"For how long?" From the look on his face, I could tell the skeptical stage was over and the teaching could begin.

"I'm not totally sure," I confessed. "Why keep track of time when I thought I'd be there forever? I think that stint lasted about thirty years, but it could've been as long as fifty. I've lost count of how many times I been taken, single women like me were walking targets. Over the years I've racked up about a century. After the use of guns became more widespread, escaping was like child's play. Overseers tended to be trigger-happy and the 'property' was usually buried in shallow graves separated from everything. That made it mad easy to just leave and try again somewheres else."

"A century, that's a hundred years," Rohshawn told me, his eyes wide. "You was a slave for a hundred years?"

I blinked. A hundred years? "Well, yeah. Most of the memories have gone fuzzy; one of the many advantages to living for such a frightfully long time." Of course, spending five times as long as he'd been on Earth doing ANYTHING sounded like a huge deal to the boy, but I did not feel the same. I hadn't thought about all that in years. The scars would never go away, obviously, but the wound had long since healed over. "Now it's my turn to ask the questions. Can I get you a drink first?"

He nodded and asked for a beer, which was good because that was all we had besides rust-flavored tap water. I let Rohshawn get comfortable for a minute or two before laying this big trust and honesty riff on him. I wanted to trust him. Teaching was a cool gig, but training the competition got to be a bigger than average pain when said competition went for my head. "...And when I ask you something, I'd really prefer you tell me the truth. Like, what were you in for?"

Drugs, Rohshawn told me. He had served eighteen months here, six months there, for charges like possession with intent to sell and grand theft. The last time, though, he entered detox and hasn't touched anything since. "Two years next month," he proclaimed with pride. His first death, as far as he could tell, occurred last month. I didn't ask Rohshawn how it happened; if he wanted to, he would tell me when he was ready.

Long after the sun went beddy-bye, we exchanged numbers and I sent the boy on his way, with instructions to return the next day. All told, he seemed like a decent kid. Everything about Rohshawn Levy appeared to be genuine, and that included his large 'tude. Even so, I decided I'd have Richie ask his watcher friend to check the guy out and it wouldn't be a bad idea to give Macleod a ring. Rohshawn could be working with an older Immortal and it was better to be safe than sorry (Cliché or not, that happens to be very true, especially when you're me.).

x0x0x

Less than twelve hours later, I found myself rousted out of bed by someone's buzz. It didn't take me long to realize that it wasn't coming from my cute, redheaded roomie, who had returned home not five minutes after Rohshawn's departure with kitty in tow, and was currently scrambling into a pair of jeans with so much gusto change flew out of his pockets. Ignoring the fact that I myself was wearing nothing more than a midriff-baring tank top and an old, droopy pair of boxers, I quickly got a hold of my sword. The next thirty seconds were spent convincing Richie to stay in the bedroom, then I was free to go for the door.

The sight that greeted me on the other end inspired neither fight nor flight. "Damn, girl, you are cut!"

"Thanks, I guess." My brain was too affected by the opposing forces of no coffee and an adrenaline rush to automatically snap into teacher mode. "Zeus on a zeppelin, Rohshawn! The new day doesn't usually start until AFTER the sun comes up."

Abashed by my harsh tone, Rohshawn glanced at his watch. "It's eight, the sun's been up for hours. I'll come back?"

"No. You're here, I'm up, come in.

"Sorry, I'm not a morning person. I haven't been up before ten since the last time I attended high school, when it was mandatory." I went in the kitchen and put on a pot of mocha-flavored caffeine. "Have a seat," I urged. "The coffee'll be done in a few, feel free to help yourself."

Three minutes later, I gave Richie a smooch and emerged, dressed in sweats with my hair pulled up. The coffee hadn't been so much as breathed on, due to the fact that Rohshawn had taken my initial irritation far too seriously and opted to remain seated for the duration.

So the boy was afraid of me. Maybe I'd built up my all-powerful aura too much the night before. Just because Rohshawn was overconfident for a newbie didn't mean I had to scare him witless. I had been far too quick to use my age as a trump card.

"You might want to partake of the percolator," I suggested.

"Do what?"

"Coffee, Rohshawn?"

Over mugs of the aromatic brown stuff, we both made an effort to conduct idle chitchat. I found out Roh had to meet with his parole officer every Thursday for the next few months. He also bussed tables at a nice restaurant in town four nights a week. I told him all about my last foray into an institute of higher learning, including the story of how I met Richie. I thought maybe hearing how the Buzz made me whoops my cookies would loosen the kid up a little.

As we finished up, I glanced at my watch. Half past eight, MacLeod had most likely run ten miles, doubled back, taken a shower, and gone out on a breakfast date by now. He just seemed like one of those make-the-most-of-his-day type guys to me.

"Let's motor," I declared, directing him out the door.

"Where're we goin'?"

"Remember that guy we told you about last night, the one who taught Richie?" He nodded. "Duncan owns a dojo a few minutes from here. We can start your training there."

x0x0x

"Now the Highlander's kind of imposing, don't let him scare you," I advised as we entered the dojo. Then I remembered that the kid standing next to me was physically imposing in his own right and added hurriedly, "But don't give him any lip either."

"He got skills," Rohshawn asked simply.

"I sure wouldn't want to fight him."

The first floor was empty, but we both felt a buzz. I used Richie's elevator key to get upstairs, where we found two large men with drawn swords. "Nobody here but us chickens," I called out cheerfully. "Morning, boys."

"You're up early, doll. Someone hunting you?"

The shorter-haired of the two retreated to the sofa and turned the television on, looking daggers at me which were not hard to catch. "Hi, Adam," I said, my heart breaking. The ability to tell anyone your real name is too often taken for granted. "Say hello to my new student."

Ooh, that got him up and friendly.

"Hi, um, Rahsaan is it?"

"Rohshawn, Levy," the boy answered.

"Adam Pierson. Nice to meet you." Methos offered his hand and even smiled when Roh took it. My, my. The codger was really going all out.

I sat down next to Methos on the couch as Macleod appropriated my student and took him downstairs. Duncan and I had agreed that Rohshawn should start off with someone closer to his own size. "What's on the boob?"

"Round one of the World Cup," the old guy replied. "Baggio cut off his ponytail for the occasion."

I rose and went towards the Frigidaire. "I'll pass, thanks." There was just something profoundly disturbing about a stadium full of grown men in tri-color face paint. I wasn't the biggest proponent of American football, but at least there the worst you see is the occasional half-naked, drunken, fat guy with something silly written on his torso.

"What do you think," I asked, returning with a glass of OJ.

"About what, pray tell? Your being unwise enough to take on a student you know nothing about in the middle of the Gathering, or the student itself?"

"The student HIMself," I answered, electing not to comment on the blatant criticism. I learned early on in our acquaintance (c. 1550) that Methos thought any undertaking that even remotely risked one's time on Earth was sheer lunacy. I just humored the dude and waited for the day Macleod would rope him into taking a student of his own. Then I'd get a front row seat and heckle him to death.

"He's twice your size."

If Methos didn't consistently make me throw my head back in laughter, I'd have gone for his head years ago out of pure exasperation. "I kind of meant for you to tell me something that WASN'T completely obvious."

His eyes never strayed from the screen. "The boy has spent time in prison."

Oy. "Yes, and?"

"He's probably dangerous, Iphigenia."

"Are not we all? Between you, me and Duncan, how many cities could be filled with the people we've killed?"

"You know better than to compare the two," the man beside me snorted.

"I am aware of what happens in those places and what they can do to young men, Methos. I know I have to watch myself around the kid. Joe checked him out. Roh didn't have his own file yet, of course, but his police record coincides with what I've been told. There is also no mention of him in anyone else's file, so he really is what he says he is. A newbie, in need of a teacher."

"I truly hope you're right," he warned.

"I do declare, Cian," I remarked, surprise causing me to use the name he'd gone by when we first met. "That almost sounded like you care."

Methos shrugged, a slight smile on his lips. "Winlogee, should the boy turn out to be an agent of 'the dark side,' I would become a target. And you know how much I HATE that."

"Oh, yesh." I got up and turned off the television. "Let's go check and see how things are faring downstairs. Walk this way."

He grinned broadly. "If I could walk that way I-" A strategically placed hand effectively silenced the oldest of my race.

I did kind of set my own self up for that one, though.

x0x0x

Rohshawn had to get ready for work that afternoon, so I took him back after lunch. Macleod had an approving look on his face when we left, but the boy was tight-lipped. I waited for him to say something, anything, but it soon became apparent that it was once again up to me to open up the lines of communication.

A passing VW Bug provided me with a silly and immature means to that end. "Punch buggy yellow," I said, whapping him on the arm and then falling silent to wait for his reaction. Rohshawn would either shove my nose through my brain, or he'd wake up and start talking.

"When do I get a sword?"

The boy chose his action well; I liked my nose very well where it was. "When we know for sure you won't cut your hand off with it." He didn't so much as titter. "Not long. The bokken is good for now."

"Macleod said I'm lucky you found me."

I smirked. "That was just his way of putting the fear of other immortals in you."

"I don't get it."

I bit the inside of my cheek. How to explain without sounding like a total fatalist? "Okay, um, you and me—we're completely different, yes?"

Rohshawn frowned at me. "Yeah, so?"

"The same way regular people have Mother Teresa AND Joel Rifkin, we immortals got good ones and we got bad ones."

His frown deepened. "Joel who?"

I clucked my tongue. "Rifkin. Back east a few years ago, the dude killed, like, twenty hookers and threw 'em out with the trash."

"Big talker," the child remarked. "You don't even know how many hoes he offed."

"I've only got a few spaces left in my brain, dude. It was either that or my life as a mortal, and I kind of likedmy parents."

"Thought none of us had parents."

"I was informally adopted. I was lucky, in that respect." I then realized that I had been in the middle of making a point. "I was trying to make you understand that there are some majorly evil dudes out there, and we have a higher proportion of psychos than moral types. If you had been found by one of those guys, the gods know what would've happened."

"But, I been one of you for all of a month and everybody I've met seems straight up."

Had he taken stubborn pills with lunch or something? "That's true, I suppose. You should still thank your lucky stars Adam didn't find you." Whoops. I really hadn't meant to say that last part out loud.

"How come? It looked like he was your boy."

"Adam's okay," I acknowledged. "It's just that he has this annoying habit of perceiving anything unknown as a threat to his personal safety."

Rohshawn sat in silent contemplation.

"What's goin' on in that dread-locked head of yours," I asked. No answer. "Some young ones think if they kill an old dude all their problems go away, but it doesn't happen. The best option you have is to stay and learn as much as you can, ya know?"

"I know," he grunted.

"Peaches."

Now he snickered.

I pulled up in front of Rohshawn's apartment building, which—oddly enough—was only a few blocks from mine. "What?"

"You talk funny, for a million-year-old," he explained. "Where the hell you from anyway?"

A chuckle bubbled up from my throat. "South Central, of course."

He laughed out loud and got out of the car. "See you tomorrow, home-slice?"

"Count on it, brother man."

x0x0x

"I've been thinking of leaving town, Roh." I landed a shallow cut on his thigh. "How do you feel about Nevis—or maybe Marrakech?"

"Don't you ever talk sense," the boy grunted. "Leave town? Ain't we in the middle a somethin' here?" He got past my paltry defenses, moved in close, and kicked me in the stomach, knocking the air out of my body.

All snappy rejoinders were put on hold as I wheezed and tried to get my lungs to take in oxygen again. Three months into his training, Rohshawn had developed into a fairly skilled fighter, for someone so young. His fear of all us geezers had worn off, but now the kid was far too cheeky for his own good.

And the old dude wasn't even around to cut the boy down to size. After a few weeks of marginally taking part in our summer session of Immortality 101, Methos had decided he'd had his fill and gone on his merry little way. It probably had something to do with the fact that Rich and I were members of that dwindling minority, Immortals who use the word "dude" in everyday conversation. I kind of almost missed him; it was nice having someone around who was closer to my own age—even if that someone WAS a big booger. Nobody else understood all my sarcastic asides.

"Actually, that's not such a bad idea," Duncan piped up as he got out of his office.

Stunned at this justification of what he perceived to be just more evidence of my eccentricity, Rohshawn stopped moving completely and stared at Macleod. My evil side took the opportunity to knock him on his botty. "Who's yer daddy!" I couldn't resist; ever since I'd first heard that phrase I'd felt this overwhelming urge to use it on somebody.

"Wha' for," Roh asked, ignoring me.

"Joe said there's a new immortal in town," Richie stated from where he sat watching us spar. He often commented on Roh's technique and helped him fix the mistakes. Lucky duck Rohshawn probably had more teachers at one time than anyone in history, and I knew Richie was enjoying not being the youngest immie in the room anymore.

"Orellana is new in more ways than one," Duncan continued. "And he's been trying to make a reputation for himself. Either the man's very good, or he cheats, because he hasn't even come close to losing yet."

"If you won't skedaddle with me, at least learn to be more careful when you're on your own, Dreads," I pleaded, kneeling beside him. "There are a lot of us here, but he might go after you first."

"You think it's 'cause I'm young."

"Well," I hedged, thinking no one needed to hear about my role in this particular drama. Nah, forget that, they all had a right to know. "That, and because I, uh, killed his teacher. Orellana probably wants revenge, and he's more likely to get it by killing you."

Rohshawn fell back on the floor and went limp.

"Aw, scooter." Eager to diminish the fear in the boy's eyes, I leaned over and ruffled his hair. "We've all been hunted at one time or another. Think of it as a rite of passage, like your first tattoo."

"Yeah, welcome to the club," Richie said grimly. "This Irish chick went for me after I'd been Immortal for less than a month, at least you got three times the experience I had."

"Great," the still figure moaned. "Fa-frigging-boo."

Now that I had duly relieved my burden, I felt better, but just a little. "Up you get, lazy-bones," I prodded. "You'll lose your head to my teenaged grand-daughter if you sleep through training."

x0x0x

As we had countless times before, Rohshawn and I stood in the parking lot outside the dojo waiting for Richie to get out of the shower. My life had settled into a semblance of regularity over the last few months that I had never really found among others of my kind. Roh came over every morning, we went to DeSalvo's together to work out until early afternoon, then I drove him home so we could both get ready and go to work. Waitressing at his restaurant wasn't the most life affirming of occupations, but at least it was a job. I got itchy if I wasn't doing something.

Returning to the present, I couldn't help but notice the fact that Roh was staring at me, and had been for several minutes. "What's on your mind?"

"Did you really do that guy's teacher," he asked, his eyes wide and solemn.

"Dude, it's what we do," I sighed, paraphrasing the standard line. I knew the subject of my past challenges would come up sooner or later. Somehow it was easier for Rohshawn to see Duncan or Richie taking heads than me. I was used to it, really.

"Yeah, but why?"

Boy oh boy.

I steered him into my bronze 1979 Chevy Nova as Richie finally got out and told what I could. In the early part of the last decade I had been working with a controversial then-fledgling group called the Guardian Angels in Manhattan, an island that possessed no shortage of our kind. I ran into an immortal named Klaus Veber while patrolling the subway with two other Angels. The man was all hopped up on something, so he wasn't in any condition to care what he was saying, or that he had an audience. He challenged me right there, and when I tried to blow him off, Veber went insane. I wasn't quick enough to stop him from drawing his sword, or from using it on me.

"When I revived a few minutes later the first thing I saw was a blade going for my neck," I said. "So, I rolled out of the way and drew my sword."

"Then you took his head," Richie asked.

I shook my head. "No, that wouldn't be right. I was so righteously vexed about letting myself get whacked I couldn't see straight and Veber could barely walk as it was. So I stabbed him in the heart and stuffed a note in his shirt pocket, which told him where and when we could try it again. I didn't take his head till two days later, in an undeserved fair fight, but I seriously doubt Orellana gives a toss about that part."

"What about the others," Rohshawn asked softly.

Now there was a non sequitur if I'd ever heard one. "Que?"

"I think he wants to know how you dealt with your friends seeing everything," Richie explained, also sotto voce. Why was everybody whispering?

Some part of me said that maybe on some level they had figured out what really happened and were acting accordingly. "It's complicated," I said wearily. In truth, witnesses were the least of my problems. The second thing I saw when I woke up was their dead bodies; the creep had killed them right after getting me out of the way.

What I did next was take Veber's sword, plant mine on him, dump his carcass a few blocks away, get back to the scene, and run myself through. I managed to catch the eye of a transit cop, but I didn't get to say anything to the poor fella before dying for the second time in less than an hour. Bellevue was just chaotic enough for me to beat a hasty retreat from the morgue without being noticed.

From the home of an immortal friend, I saw that the brutal murders of three Guardian Angels by an unknown psychopath were all over the news. I used a borrowed sword to dispatch Veber. Then I departed New York, not to return for a long time. The following decade or so was spent drifting around the Western hemisphere, ending when I impinged on Jessie. Compared to what I had been through, high school in suburbia was positively bearable.

I didn't tell the boys any of this though; they had heard enough. I was still disconcerted by the way everything turned out. I had been in the city for less than a year; the actions of that schiesskopf forced me out before I was ready.

Richie and Rohshawn seemed to understand how I felt. I kept my eyes on the road and the remainder of the ride was spent in silence.

x0x0x

The clock in the den chimed two a.m. as I gratefully sank down on the bed and closed my eyes, not even bothering to take off my shoes. There was a bronchitis epidemic at the restaurant (Not usually known as a plague-type illness, I know, but everybody there smoked.) and the few kids who weren't half dead at home were barking like seals, effectively spreading germs all over the food and scaring off the customers. As one of those left standing, I was working double duty at a job I had entered into for kicks. And Rohshawn, the layabout, had called in sick that night, claiming to be among the afflicted. I had been through worse though, and the manager was a real sweetheart who didn't need me bowing out in the middle of a crisis, so I muddled through.

However, between that, the training, and the getting up early every cotton-picking morning, my life had gotten just a tad full, and now I was too tired to live. Not that I was complaining—I wasn't. Complaining was for the weak (Almost had ya going for a second there, didn't I).

My lids had been closed for a maximum of about three seconds when some obviously suicidal being started shaking me. Once I became fully aware again I figured out who it was. "Richie, leave me be."

Alas, after all these months of living in sin, Richie had become immune to my pleas. The impudent boy shoved a phone in my face. "It's Rohshawn," was his excuse. "I think something's wrong; he sounds weird."

I blinked several times and took the receiver. "Whatup, dog?" My speech does tend to take on the characteristics of the peeps I chill wit. The problem is that my resulting diction has become a colossal mishmash of slang from different eras. Seriously, I confuse myself.

"There's one of us around," the voice at the other end managed.

Bloody hell, Joe had promised to call if Orellana got this close. Quickly abandoning the last vestiges of sleep, I sat up on the edge of the bed and asked, "Are you at home, Roh?"

"Yeah. I just felt him a few minutes ago, then it went away."

I vented by nibbling on my thumbnail. Our place was only five minutes away by foot, but I couldn't in all good conscience advise him to leave his building on his own, and there were no churches between us. If Roh ran into Orellana on the street, I'd be out a student. "You stay where you are," I ordered. "Barricade your door, cover the windows, and do not leave. We're on our way."

My instructions were met with no answer, just dead air. I hoped that only meant Rohshawn had forgotten I couldn't see him nod over the phone and hung up. Richie had already grabbed his keys and was at the door.

x0x0x

Thick, bluish-gray fog and strange mortals were among the things I did not expect to see at Rohshawn's place, but we found them nevertheless.

Well, slap my face and call me Shirley. "You're smashed, cowpoke," I announced needlessly, for Roh and his young friend—laid out mighty comfortably amongst the remains of a two-person bender—knew very well what they were, and a joint left smoking on the coffee table made the situation olfactorially obvious to everyone else in a five mile radius.

"Whatchoo doin' here," my student asked muzzily, apparently having forgotten that just a few minutes before he was in fear for his life.

"Roh, Roh, Roh," I clucked with a parental-like, disapproving frown.

"Yer boat," Rohshawn's crony unwisely piped up, making the two giggle like a pair of schoolgirls.

Giggling that is, until Rohshawn saw in my face that quiet time had been enforced. "This is Eddie boy," he said, sounding almost sober.

Whatever his name, the young man was an outsider, and therefore must leave. I fixed my gaze on the no longer anonymous child and jerked my thumb towards the door. "Please go home now."

But my feminine wiles seemed to have little effect on young Eddie boy. "Forget you, bee-otch," the post-adolescent charmer snorted. "I live here." He really didn't, though.

Sometimes it was very easy to forget how breakable mortals were. Richie looked at me with frustration exuding from the core of his being and I knew that his thoughts were along the same lines as mine. "Fine, star, stay and get high off the air if that's what you want—WE'RE leaving." And with that, I leaned over and got a firm hold of my student's ear.

"I be gone till November," Roh gleefully shouted at his friend.

Whatever.

Though he complained—audibly—I didn't let go of Roh's ear until after we had left the building and piled into my Nova. Richie didn't even move to open his window when I instinctively lit up a cigarette, so convinced was he that I was on edge.

The expression on my face must have been darker than my thoughts, though. Had this same transgression been committed by one of my silly college buds I would have been at least a skoche amused, but since it was Rohshawn, for whom life was infinitely more complicated, I had to be all stern and adultish, dang it all. I found myself torn between tearing the boy limb from limb and asking him if he had any weed left for the rest of the class.

I settled for taking the extra-long and winding way home in the hopes that Roh would be forced to decorate the roadside with his dinner, thus sobering up prematurely and saving Richie and me from having to wait for him to be coherent.

Rohshawn, who was currently watching his own fingers move with a fascination unbecoming any graduate of pre-school, did not seem to care where we were going, much less how long it took us to get there.

"Sorry," he said after the disapproving silence finally registered on his kid-radar.

"For crying wolf, or for getting wrecked in the first place," I deliberately snapped. As much as I hated being a skutch, Rohshawn had to know that what he did was wrong...

Because I knew the child was in no condition to figure it out on his own. "Wolf? Where?"

Richie shifted in the passenger seat and held his breath in his effort not to laugh. I was similarly diverted, but I had to stick to my guns. "The one with the sword, Rohshawn," I explained not quite patiently. "The one that made you call me at three in the morning."

"I didn't call you," he replied, confused.

"Are you SURE," I pushed gently. "You don't remember frantically telling me that you thought there was an immortal nearby? Or me telling you that we'd be right there?"

The sudden light-bulb-going-off look on Roh's face was just too much for Richie. Unable to hold it in any longer, he snickered into his hand.

"I did feel him, though," Rohshawn argued plaintively.

"I don't doubt you felt something," I reassured him. "It is called T.H.C.-induced paranoia." For those not in the know, T.H.C. is the active ingredient in the marijuana plant. Some may infer I know too much about the subject (Bronx cheer is what I say to them!).

"No, I really did."

My companion had had enough. "Listen, reefer king-"

"Hush," I whispered. I silenced Richie by tweaking his nose and looked over my shoulder into Rohshawn's bloodshot eyes. "You felt a buzz, Dreads?"

"Yeah," he sniffed.

"Could it have been about a half an hour ago, while you were still back home with Letitia Baldridge?"

This was not the question his smoke-filled brain had expected. "How did you know?"

"Um, honey-chile," I explained. "Maybe because it was Rich and me who buzzed you."

The revelation affected Roh very little. He just nodded sagely and sat back in his seat.

"Coulda been," the boy finally conceded. I didn't even try to stop Richie from the inevitable sniggering, which almost evolved into loud guffawing.

We pulled in front of our building just a few minutes later, with the info that Eddie boy was an old friend from juvie (Richie had smirked knowingly at that description) who had just been sprung from the pen. Both boys had considered it cause for celebration, which in their limited view meant artificial relaxation of some kind.

Never mind that Rohshawn practically had a dotted line with the words "cut here" tattooed around his neck. No, that stuff didn't matter. He could always get a new head; it's friends like Walter that you don't come by every day.

I swear, sometimes I could just shave off my eyebrows!

"Dreads," I breathed upon entering the apartment. "Couch, now. I'm not about to let your foolish self sleep in tomorrow—sorry, TODAY—so get to it." Roh did as he was told without comment. I motioned for Richie to go on to the bedroom. Then I filled Piggy's dish with some nasty-smelling chicken food and retired for the night, knowing full well that it was more like morning.

"Are you sure leaving Roh alone out there is such a good idea," my wary beau asked as I climbed into bed.

"He knows that running now would only compound my wrath," was my drowsy reply. At least, I hoped that was the case. At any rate, the idea of making Richie or myself stay up all night just to keep Rohshawn from skipping out would flat-out not be entertained.

x0x0x

Precious few hours later, I convinced Richie to go on to the dojo without us, and crept into the kitchen to put on a pot of French Roast. My wayward student roused shortly thereafter to find me with a smoldering Marlboro Red in one hand and a copy of Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot in the other (It's always good to read up on current events). I could function quite capably with little sleep—I just didn't LIKE to.

"You smoke too much," he teased lightly. "It stinks in here."

An apparent victim of amnesia, this boy.

I raised an eyebrow. "Mayhap I do," I admitted coolly. And mayhap if he didn't wipe that smirk off his face I'd be forced to eat my cigarette.

Realization dawned as Rohshawn's big, brown, twenty-one year-old eyes met mine. The smirk became a puss. "I'm sorry."

Ugh. "You may not remember, but you said that several times last night, so I already know. I still don't know what for, though."

"Everything," he asked hopefully.

"You don't get it, Levy," I spat, stubbing out my cigarette. "What you did last night was SUICIDAL. The only thing you need apologize to me for is wasting my time, because I would never have helped you if I had known you'd turn around and throw everything my friends and I have taught you these last few months down the commode the first chance you got."

The boy in front of me looked indignant and ashamed at the same time. "But I wasn't.…"

"...Thinking, I know." My juices were really flowing now. "You're supposed to be thinking about these things all the time. Roh, you're lucky as all hell that head-hunter I told you about not three days ago DIDN'T find you last night, 'cause then I'd be saying all this to your grave!"

My words seemed to have the right effect; Roh was studying the floor all sullen-like. "I'm only telling you this because I don't want you to die," I continued, flicking his ear to get him to look at me. "Celebrating a friend's release from jail is fine, but for the love of Mike use your head. The world has changed for you; there are some things you just can't do anymore. Understand?"

Rohshawn nodded, sitting down at the kitchen table. I handed him a mug and took the opposite chair. "I worry about you, Dreads."

I went on quietly, ignoring the inquisitive look on his face. "Your friends say take drugs and steal, so you take drugs and steal; the system says reform or die, so you reform; I say learn the sword, so you learn; and then Eddie boy comes along and says smoke up, so... It seems like you always do what people tell you to do—and that's not a good way to go through life. Don't be that guy anymore, Roh. Your brain is there to be used."

He stared into the contents of his mug, unable to come up with any kind of response. This non-reaction was not surprising. Rohshawn's childhood had been much like other unfortunate immortals' throughout the years—no real parents, no authority figures worthy of respect—and I was willing to bet that no one had ever spoken to him quite that frankly before.

"Finish your coffee," I ordered, lightening up. "And kid?"

"Yeah?"

"Take a shower before I hose you down like the elephant whose stink you stole."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "No, I don't think I will."

Oh goody, he really was listening. "Seriously, though," I giggled. "The rankness of you is, like, indescribable. Shower, scooter." Roh grinned toothily and did something curious before heading into the bathroom. He gave me a hug.

x0x0x

I would have been happy to spend the whole day sitting at the kitchen table, preserving the warm fuzzy, but my reverie was soon interrupted by a knock at the door. Taking the lack of buzz into account, I assumed that it was some species of solicitor and neglected to answer in the hope that whoever it was would eventually shove off.

Not so.

The knocking continued and even increased in volume as well as frequency, so much so that Rohshawn yelled at me from the bathroom to just 'see who it was already.'

Eh, might as well. "Th'ain't nobody home," I called.

"Open the door, would you please, Iff," came a very young, very familiar voice.

Lordyloo. "Jessie, go back from whence you came. This is SUCH a bad time, you don't even know."

Of course she was having none of it. "Let us in, agoraphobic!"

'Us?'

I could just tell this was not going to be my day.

I sighed and closed my eyes. Maybe if I asked nicely enough, the goblins would come and take these intruders away.

Hell's bells, maybe it would be better if they'd take me instead.

Yet, for all my hemming and hawing, I ended up opening the door. Trust me; a life spent in suspense is so not worth living. "Spiffy Iffie," the girl cried, running into my arms and nearly squeezing the life out of my body.

"Messy Jessie," I greeted with far less enthusiasm. "What in the sam holy hill are you doing here?"

"Mission of mercy," declared Jessie's compatriot, her aunt Trini.

"I'm so fine -," I began to protest, giving Trini a peck on the cheek.

"Not for you," the forty-something interrupted. "For us. You haven't called or written since you left school in May, and Mom has been driving the both of us up a wall."

Aw, my Laurel. I'd completely neglected my correspondence duties to the family, and I hadn't seen Trini or her mother in almost a year. They weren't getting any younger. I would have to do something to rectify that situation, but now was just not the time for a family picnic.

Preparing to let them down easy, I put on my contrite face and moved toward the front door. "Sorry, girls. I've been getting in touch with my undying side, hacking people to bits, discussing historical events with cats who've seen it first-hand, you know how it is. So, here, tell Laurel that I'll call as soon as I get the chance, make sure you say that you saw me with my head still firmly attached, and I'll, uh, see you soon, okay?"

Trini and Jess faced me with identical frowns. Funny, I had never noticed any resemblance before. "We've flown three hours to come here; you can't kick us out after thirty seconds."

Where were those dang-blasted goblins when a body needed them? "Had you called prior to buying the tickets and jumping on a plane, Duchess de Talleyrand, I would have told you that this is probably the worst time you could have picked to come visit."

Trini walked into the foyer and glanced at me from over her shoulder. "Stunad, you never gave any of us the number."

Didn't I? I could remember meaning to, but for something to slip my mind is not completely unheard of.

Then something occurred to me. "Wait a moment, then how did you get the address?"

Trini's padded shoulders nearly met her dangling earrings as she shrugged nonchalantly. "Jessica put the squeeze on your watcher."

"Tell me you didn't," I pleaded, turning to Jessie.

"I can't," the teenager cackled. "Well, I could, but it'd be a lie."

I sank down on the couch as Trini took it upon herself to explore the rest of the apartment and Jessie searched the fridge. "And you started out such a nice girl," I sighed. "I remember when you were this little, two-year-old, slip of a thing—no higher than my knee. A sweeter child I have never seen. Now you're 'squeezing' poor, innocent Sheri. What happened? You've been spending way too much time with your ignoble Aunt Trini, that's what happened.

"But then that's probably my fault, me and my stupid legacy. If I had picked the second-born daughter, just that one time, you'd still be a halfway decent human being. And, Trini, don't get me started on that twin of yours."

"You can't possibly blame me for Naomi," Trini countered. "You're the one who infected her mind, Miss I-was-a-beatnik-before-Kerouac-made-it-cool. That, Nana, is all on you—you, with your grand tales of hanging with the Rastas in Kingstown and the free-speech activists at Berkeley. And let's not forget the Bolsheviks in St. Petersburg."

I went on moaning as if she hadn't spoken, not even bothering to tell her my friends were Mensheviks, not Bolsheviks. "Between you and your two aunts I'm at my wit's end. Maybe I should let it go, leave the rest of Alesa's girls alone. I know my life would become one heapin' heck of a lot easier…"

Predictably, both girls ignored my babbling. It was nothing new to them.

"Who's in the shower," Trini queried, a nasty little twinkle dancing in her dark eyes. "Could it be the gorgeous, young, immortal boyfriend I've heard so much about?"

"When did you become such a gossiping yenta, Katrina Adelle," I asked, shooting the only person that could have told her about Richie a firm look.

Trini was unruffled. "Is it?"

"Never you mind, girlie."

Mighty unfortunately for Rohshawn, fate chose that precise moment for him to emerge—half-naked—from the bathroom. The instant he locked eyes with Trini, his expression became akin to that of a rabbit hopelessly trapped on a busy highway. It's sad as Hades' territory is deep, but that's how most men reacted to her.

Trini's smile widened so much I could see all her fillings. "You left some things out, Jessie," she scolded lightly, glancing at her niece. "Hi, you must be Richie." And with hand out-stretched she moved in for the kill.

"Nein!"

I flew from the couch just in time to get between my insane middle-aged descendent and my hung-over, petrified young protégé. "Get in the bedroom," I whispered to Rohshawn, forcefully directing him through the door. "The sweats are in the third drawer on the left."

"That wasn't what it looked like," I attempted pitifully.

Trini pushed past me to open the door, but I caught her bejeweled hand in mid-air. "Good heavens, Trini, heel!"

"That wasn't Richie," Jessie observed, temporarily flooring her nutty aunt, and giving me the opportunity to herd the pair into the kitchen.

"Moving on pretty quickly, aren't we, Grandmama," Trini erroneously deduced.

"Oh, just shut down that filthy mind for a second, if you please," I snapped. The stress and lack of sleep were getting to me. "Richie is at the gym right now; this place is his and mine. Translation: we're still together."

"I see," Trini said. She had the wrong kind of look on her face.

"You really don't, though." That girl was just plain incorrigible!

"I think I do."

"You're barking up the wrong tree entirely. The thought you have in your head is so off it belongs in a totally different forest."

"So, you're NOT shtupping that young buck back there?"

Well, at least she was telling me this to my face, rather than telling it to somebody else behind my back. "Sweet Gaia! My life is not a romance novel!"

"Sounds more like an episode of one of those trashy talk shows," Jessie put in.

Hearts, Heads, and Swords; immortal love triangles—on the next Jerry Springer.

"It's not that either," I muttered.

"Then who is that guy, G.G.," Trini demanded.

First things first. "If you're here for awhile, could you nix the Grandma stuff and just call me Iffie, or better yet Genie. I don't want anyone to know about you guys and what you are to me, capite?" They nodded. "The kid in my bedroom getting dressed slowly so you'll be gone when he finally comes out is my student in things of a Non-Sexual nature, Rohshawn."

Both girls took a moment to puzzle over my use of the word 'student.' "You mean, he is like you," Trini asked. She'd never seen another immie before.

"Yep."

Suddenly incensed for no inducement that I could ascertain, Trini stood up and gave me one of the evillest eyes I had ever seen. "Just how many of these people are you hanging out with here?"

"Including Roh," I stalled, covering my head with my arms. For whatever reason, I could tell that she wasn't going to like my answer.

"If you prefer," she growled.

"Around five." I tightened my arms around my skull as she proceeded to beat me about the head with her hands and purse.

For a while after that smackdown, all Trini did was emit a low-pitched, grr-type sound, and then the pacing began. "Have you been this careless all your life?"

"Uh, not yet."

Next she stalked up to me, grabbed both my arms, and shrieked, "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

No, but... "It's my self." I still had no idea what exactly her problem was.

She shook me a little bit, finally noticed that I was merely humoring her ire, and withdrew, disgusted to the core. "How many times have I heard you say how dangerous it is to consort with other immortals and, now you're part of some circle of sword-carrying friends! Is this some late-late-late-life-crisis or something?"

Oh, so that's what her deal was. I found Trini's concern for me truly heart-warming, but enough was enough already. "Quit playing major general to my buck private, hon."

"Genie, I was just -"

"I know what you're driving at, I really do. I haven't been with more than one immortal at a time since the triplets and that was when they were still new. What you don't get is that our situation has transformed in the last few years. Bad guys'll come for me no matter who I'm with and it's better that I'm around these people when that happens. So, rest easy; I'm far from putting my head on a platter."

"Okay," Trini relented with a haughty sniff. "Good."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: There is a bit more to the story. The end scenes, in fact. I'll post it if I ever figure out how to backtrack from point Z to point This. And if you are reading this right now, hearts for you.


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